The Butterfly Effect (Nashet dyal Faracha)
by Spirit Bagle of Death
Summary: Summer, 1973. Charles and Erik, sobered by the recent events in DC, are looking to reconcile their organizations in an attempt to strengthen the global position of mutant kind. To this end, Erik invites Charles to Morocco on a scouting mission that brings them closer, but also puts them in harms way.(Fixit. Dark!Charles. Violence. Sexual content. Societal oppression of women).
1. Chapter 1

Xavier Mansion, June 17th, 1973, 4:30pm

Charles Xavier straightened the pile of student applications on his desk and let his mind wander. He had been busy. The Paris Peace Accords and Logan's bizarre urgency were indeed somewhat of a wake up call. It also helped that the dreadful, wasteful war had come to an end. That damned war had ripped him apart, but like everything else it had run it's course, and that brought certain comforts.

Alex returned, for one, as did some of his former students. They were all a little worse for wear, but all of them were eager to pick up the pieces of their broken lives. He also received an occasional (collect) phone call from Raven wherever she was infiltrating things. He had come to terms with the fact that she would never call the mansion home again, but the sound of her voice once in a while and the knowledge that deep down she was still his little sister allowed him some peace.

Besides, lately he'd begun to feel that prickling in the center of his chest, and the compulsive desire to jot down ideas for curriculum improvements, recruitment trips, and updates to cerebro. He hadn't yet dared call it hope in his thoughts, but his heart fueled the fire of his unspoken dreams.

He wanted the mansion to be every wayward mutant's home. He wanted to find and teach the people Logan, that ghost from the future, had rattled off in a panic, and live up to the old man in the wheelchair's quiet confidence.

"Professor?"

Charles started in his seat as Hank barged into the office, blue as anything and straining against the contours of a formerly well-fitted suit. He still wasn't quite used to his Vice Principal's "Mutant and Proud" exterior, but he supposed this too would be an adjustment he'd take in stride.

"Yes?"

"Uh...someone's here to see you."

"Well don't keep me in suspense. Did I have a parent interview scheduled today? I was sure I didn't have anything in that vein until July-"

"No. It's not that...you know what never mind, I'll tell him to make a damn appointment. He can't just barge in here and-"

"Beast, you're an impressive fighter, but this is an 18th century Gothic mansion. There's probably metal in the wood grain, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Beast growled, but stood aside, revealing Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto, lounging against the door jam. He was in one of his many "disguises," (although the only secret identity that came to mind when Charles thought on it was "Mossad spy," which wasn't very inconspicuous), in khakis and a white polo all topped with his Panama hat and dark shades. He also sported a new, ginger-colored beard that was getting mixed internal reviews.

"Now now Charles." Erik drawled as he gave Beast a sidelong glance and then looked very conspicuously at his own groin. "You've never been one to mind a little fur."

"That will be all Hank, thank you. I can take this from here. Why don't you make sure the science labs are up to code before the district inspector arrives? We can't have any accidents, at least not any human ones..." Charles rambled to diffuse his own reddening face and Hank's sputtering outrage, and wheeled the chair out from behind his desk in record time in order to shut the door.

They were alone. Erik chuckled, and Charles was free to unleash a distinctly unprofessional scowl.

"How dare you."

Erik crossed the room and took a seat in one of the hard backed wooden chairs across from Charles's desk. With the flick of a finger he seized the brass handle of the bottom drawer, and the metal-topped decanter of scotch floated effortlessly into his hands. "I'm not the one projecting like a radio broadcast. You used to be better at controlling that."

Charles let out a heavy breath and changed the chair's course in order to retrieve two glasses from behind a copy of "Hard Times" on the adjacent shelf. He had a feeling he'd need a bloody drink to get through this conversation.

"Yes well. I've been rather out of practice. And I certainly hope you didn't come here to critique my mutation. That would be rather tedious, coming from someone who is often rendered helpless without his glorified bicycle helmet. Now pour."

Erik's smirk faded, as was the object, but he filled both their glasses and clinked rims with Charles despite the other's lack of enthusiasm. "No helmet today, Charles. I could have brought it but I didn't. Don't I earn points for that at least?"

The telepath made a study of a spot above Erik's head as the metal bender took off his glasses, revealing his steely gray eyes. "You've never been interested in earning high marks with me, my friend. Now what do you want? I'm rather preoccupied at the moment."

_You're wrong about that._

The thought was faint, but infuriatingly sincere. Charles didn't even have the heart to make a return quip about projection. "With your school, yes. Charles, I don't think I've ever said this to you, but I think your school is a wonderful idea. It's...been a long year. A long decade. We're not all meant to fight in the same way. We all have our gifts..."

Charles bristled, and his left toe gave off a phantom tingle. "I said it on the airplane and I'll say it again Erik. If it's a fight you want, you'll find I'm more than up for the challenge, even like this."

"I don't." Erik answered, and sighed heavily before downing his drink in one pull. "I don't want to fight. You make everything so difficult. Have you forgotten that night in DC? I came to you before I went underground, and you let me in Charles. It was just like before-"

Erik's free hand had been creeping forward up the arm of Charles's wheelchair as he spoke. Their fingers were now a mere centimeter apart.

Charles drew away. "A moment of weakness, Erik." He rasped, his mind filled with memories of a heated embrace, the rickety ceiling fan in the motel room, the taste of iron on a hot, hard tongue, and every other manner of forbidden madness. "You'd do well not to look too much into it. We have different values. Different hopes, dreams, principles, and backgrounds. Out there," he pointed out his window, "You prove again and again that you are my enemy."

"And what if I wanted to change that?" Erik answered, and like a flash, he reached out and gripped the telepath's wrist, forcing his hands to his own head. "Read my mind, Charles. I'm not the man I was. I wasted ten years of my life behind bars, and all of my Brothers and Sisters are dead. I'm not stupid. Setbacks like that make you reflect on your methods."

Finally, self righteousness gave Charles the strength he needed for blue to bore into gray. "Really? Is that what your attempted Nixon assassination was? A new tack?"

"_Please _Charles. Just look."

Maybe it was the please. Maybe it was the tightness of the other man's grip against his flesh, or the desperation he sensed in his energy signature, like fiddle strings that have been wound far too tightly. Charles couldn't say. But before he knew it, he found all his promises to himself broken in the mind scape as he sank into the churning black sea of the metal bender's consciousness...

_White walls. Rock. Sand. Glass. Endless hours with only himself and the sadistic guards for company. 'Hey I hear that blonde bombshell of yours bit it the other day in a botched bank heist. Isn't that a shame. Also no lunch today, sorry. I meant to get it from the kitchen, but then I got high.' _

_Rage and pain. His old friends. _

_Tick tock. Tick tock. Emma, then Angel. Azazel. Tick tock. Tick tock. _

_Mystique. Where was she?_

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Charles. He missed Charles...

_Peter running. Peter freeing him. He knew who Peter was. He knew that manic grin had a mother in a Krakow concentration camp, when his last name was still Maximoff._

Peter and Wanda. His progeny. His legacy...his future...tick tock. Tick tock.

Charles.

The school; a refuge for the young.

The Brotherhood; an army to protect the young, and the helpless, and the telepath. 

_Together. Secret. Together. Together. _

_The school and the Brotherhood. Magneto. Erik. Toad. Mystique. Peter. . Hank. Charles._

Rage and pain. Fear and hope. LoveLoveLove Tick tock tick tock tick-  
Charles gasped, and pulled himself out. For a long while neither of them spoke. Charles just breathed, and pretended not to register the other man's fingers in his hair, soothing and sure until his body stopped trembling, and the hand that had practically fused itself to Magneto's temple finally dropped.

"...Alright, Erik. I'm listening. What exactly did you have in mind?"

The metal bender grinned so that all his teeth showed, and Charles fought to undo the knot in his stomach. "I'm going to Morocco tomorrow. To scout a potential base near Europe and find more mutants, preferably ones who speak some Arabic. It's always good to have one or two on hand. I need your help. It'll be just like old times...and we can vie for who we find fair and square. It's in both our best interests. I don't want children in my army, Charles..."

"No. And I don't want trouble makers in my school."

"Exactly." Erik replied. "Join me in this, Old Friend. And I'll show you a good time as well as good faith. Morocco is a beautiful country."

Charles cleared his throat, and wheeled backwards. "I've never been. But it's true, my potential roster for next year is a little...thin, and I could do with a vacation...your room is still-"

"The third door on the right of the second floor?"

"Precisely. Kindly leave me to do some packing and inform Hank...I'll be up for chess in an hour." _  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Some notes: Immozer is a real place. All the Moroccan Arabic is real, and translated either literally or via context throughout the chapter. Some other words you might not know include:  
Ponj: a low Moroccan style couch, usually sporting an elaborate design.  
Tagine: A Moroccan dutch oven made out of clay.  
Wlywly: The Moroccan way to say "God Damn It."  
Djellaba: A traditional Moroccan one piece robe with a hood.  
Hshuma'd: To be shamed or called out for poor behavior

Hope you like! It wandered a bit into the land of crack, but I have no regrets. : P

In Transit, June 18th 1973, 6:30am

Erik awoke to the tap of something hard against his head. He'd been enjoying the dreamless sleep that was the reward of good scotch and a large (albeit empty) bed, but now he sat bolt upright, alert and ready to hurl any metal object in the room at his as yet unknown attacker.

"Oi watch yourself!" Charles barked, and set his cane down on the floor before adjusting cuff links that had tightened so that his sleeves were pythons around his wrists. Erik released them, and rubbed his eyes.

"My apologies. That's...new." Erik said and pointed to the cane, settling on the neutral word that would fly rather than the unedited "ridiculous" in his mind, but Charles heard. His scowl wasn't particularly intimidating.

"Hank's working with me on balancing my dose. If I use this, I can walk passably and still hear the minds around me faintly, even if I can't control them."

Erik raised an eyebrow, and pulled a freshly starched outfit out of the leather suitcase at arms reach on the floor. "I thought you gave all that up, Charles. You're practically human like this."

Charles turned his back and walked slowly to the door of the guest room. "I am what I am, Erik. And if you don't like it, you can piss off. But if you fancy getting off your high horse for a tick, I'll be waiting in the Blackbird. Turns out flying it's a cinch."

Erik had his doubts, but thanks to the autopilot feature, the trip flew by. Charles was still leery to touch him and clearly embarrassed about his lapse last winter, but the metal bender also didn't push too hard.

One thing prison had taught him was patience. Instead they played chess, discussed the still unimpressive Nixon administration, the possible cerebro improvements, and all manner of other things. Throughout the pulse of their never-ending conversation was the constant confirmation that he'd made the right decision.

This man, even on opiates with half a body, was his match, and he wasn't going to forget that again.

Just as the setting sun turned their world of clouds into a color show, Erik took over the controls, and landed the plane according to the coordinates he'd memorized months ago in what looked to be a fallow almond orchard. Charles stretched like a cat, and hobbled out of the hatch into the twilight.

"And where exactly are we, my friend?"

Erik grabbed their bags and started confidently south. He could have flown, or carried Charles, but he had a feeling this gesture would not be appreciated. "I hope you're wearing good shoes. We're two kilometers outside of Immozer. It's a little city in the Middle Atlas mountains. Not particularly noteworthy, but I have a friend there who says she's got a lead on a possible inconspicuous base of operations. She's expecting us."

Charles used the cane as leverage against gravity as they traversed the steady decline without difficulty, and shot him a skeptical smile. "A friend. Really. What's this one's MO, hmm? Prostitute? Heist specialist? Can she breathe fire, or walk through walls?"

"Spite doesn't look good on you, Charles. She's a pediatrician, and I'd bet my back teeth you're going to get along."

For once, the telepath had nothing to say, and they continued the rest of the walk in silence. Once they reached a line of hovels on the city limits, Erik opened his suitcase again and handed Charles a midnight blue djellaba and pair of yellow leather slippers before donning one of his own in brown.

"Put this on. You've got no chance of passing for local with that English skin of yours, but at least this will cut down on the gawking."

Charles frowned, but obeyed. "I feel the need to point out that this is a cross between a sack dress and a bathrobe. And must the shoes be so...yellow?"

"It's traditional. Not every culture has the same love affair you do with chinos and linen. Try picking olives for ten hours in that getup you teach in and I guarantee you'll be begging me for a sack dress."

"Fair point."

Eventually, they found a passable dirt road, and entered the maze that was Immozer. Erik had been here once before, but the labyrinthine streets that had seemingly been dug out at random, the noise of Berber and Arabic jumbled together, and the heady smells of cooking meat, mint, cumin, and donkey shit proved unsatisfactory memory jogs. Eventually, he gave in and asked a mul taxi in French where the American couple lived, and was automatically greeted with rapid fire directions in Moroccan Arabic.

"Charles, have you the faintest idea what "Dur lissr u bleti shwiya u dur limn f'zynqa tania" means?"

"I believe he said to turn left and wait a bit before making a right on the second street, but I have a feeling this information is now superfluous."

"What do you...ah. Yes."

The metal bender stopped mid query as he spotted what Charles had, which was an incredibly tall, dirty blonde young woman in a slightly more feminine version of the sack dress jogging towards them, arms outstretched and a huge smile on her face. Trailing slightly behind was an incongruous white man of about thirty, also grinning through a thick Thorough beard. When she'd reached them, the woman stopped short of wrapping Erik in a huge hug, and settled for a warm handshake.

"Oooh sorry about that, Sweetheart, I forget you're not a hugger and I'd be hshumaed on sight if I did that anyway. You're early! We were just picking up some ginger for the tagine because you know I'm hopeless at any other Moroccan cuisine and Zach said to me, "who are those adorable tourists," and I said "Oh Zach you know no tourists pass through this way until August, and then I saw you guys. Hi!" The woman let go of Erik's hand, and turned her attention to Charles, who was fighting to hide his bewilderment.

"I'm Julie, and this is my husband Zach. We're Peace Corps volunteers, God rest Kennedy's soul. What's your name? Erik told me on the phone, but I clean forgot."

"I'm Charles."

"Right! Charles! Not Carlos, what was I thinking. I almost called you Carlos. Anyway boys, let me just take those bags and we'll have you on a ponj with some warm tea in a jiffy."

Zach gave them a timid little wave and took half the luggage, and the couple led them down a few alleyways they most certainly would not have identified as "streets" before stopping in front of an elaborate iron door.

Julie scrambled around in her djellaba for a minute before cursing under her breath. "Wlywly I'm always forgetting the darned key. 3FFEK HOURIA Hll'LBEB, NSIT SWEART DYALI!"

A few moments passed before the iron door cracked open with a loud clang, and a veiled woman peaked out before standing aside and letting them pass. Julie gave her two cheek kisses and responded to something the woman said in Arabic.

"Shukran Houria nti drifa bzaf. M3trafich huma asdiqat d'Zach kay zuru l'Magrib."

The woman called Houria looked furtively at Erik and Charles.

"Murhababikum." And then she scuttled into the adjacent apartment before locking the door.

"What was that about?" Erik asked as the party climbed a flight of steep stone steps.

Charles responded. "Julie asked her to open the door and then explained that we're friends of her husband's visiting Morocco. She told us we were welcome."  
Zach looked back at them as the stairway opened up onto a sizable canopied roof deck that had been converted in a secondhand, haphazard way into an outdoor living room. "Bravo alik! Have you studied here?"

Charles muttered something unconvincing about "picking it up here and there," and Erik laughed full and free from the center of his chest. They were in the literal nest of Julie's formidable power now. He was already feeling the familiar giddiness overtake him, and he surrendered to it as the Magneto a decade ago never would have allowed.

"Don't listen to him. He's like us. A telepath to be precise, and he's never met a language he couldn't master in an hour."

Charles gave him a scandalized look, but, as Erik predicted, it was glazed and lacking the tension around his eyes. He was already beginning to play with one of the ponj tassles. "Erik, I'm not sure it's wise to...reveal...I'm sorry but is anyone else feeling strange?"

Julie bit her lip and looked at her husband. "Oh dear, is it too strong tonight?"

"I wouldn't know dear, I get the full brunt 24/7. Should I heat up the tagine?"

Without waiting for an answer, Zach skipped through the inner door, and Julie returned her attention to the two guests. "I'm sorry Charles, I thought Erik would have told you. I'm also a mutant, at least I think I am. My power's not all that dramatic, and I certainly can't do anything groovy like read minds-"

"It makes him an exceptional lover." Erik offered, and blocked the course of a throw-pillow on it's way directly towards his head.

"_Erik" _Charles hissed._ "_I mean, you're absolutely right. I'm a bloody fantastic lover, but...we can't be talking about that in front of, well, anyone...except I seem to have forgotten why that's so important and I have the overwhelming urge to begin a tickle fight. What in the seven hells is wrong with me?"

Julie giggled, and sidled over to the plastic table where a br3d of tea stood steeping. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. My power, as far as I can tell, is to infect everyone around me with happiness. The strength of the reaction depends on how good I'm feeling and the potential for other people to feel joy. I've had a good week, and I'm excited to see Erik, and it seems like you boys are long overdue for a bit of cheer. So er, sorry! I promise, what happens in Immozer stays in Immozer!"

Erik reached over and accepted the glass of tea Julie offered him, clapping her on the back with a bit more force than he meant. Charles, meanwhile, looked incredulous, but had also scooted over so that his side was flush with Erik's on the ponj.

"This is incredible..." murmured the telepath. "And Zach? Is he...?"

"'Fraid not," answered Zach as he returned from the kitchen with a large, covered triangular dish leaking steam from the holes poked in the top of the adobe. He set it gingerly in the center of the low couch circle, then took his seat beside Julie and started doling out huge pieces of whole grain bread from a plastic bag. "I'm just a normal human, but I don't mind. Julie's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Can happy marriages be a mutation?"

Julie laughed and kissed him on the nose. "I don't think so hun, but maybe we should ask the professor here."

Erik's heart clenched, even through the nitrus-like high, as Charles sighed and rested his head on his shoulder. "I don't know anything about anything except that cuddling is a splendid pastime and I'm starved. What is this clay volcano full of food?"

Zach opened the top of the bowl to reveal a savory vegetable and beef stew that had been piled into a pyramid. "Hadi tagine," he said, and tore his bread in half before dipping it into the thick broth with his right hand and nibbling at the end. "Eat up!"

"Oh my goodness. Message received. Eating forthwith!"

Erik almost rubbed the telepath's back, then thought better of it as the smaller man dug in with the speed of three Pietros.

"Thank you so much, Julie. Even with my Jedi-like friend here, I don't go in much for hotels nowadays. They ask too many questions."

Julie nodded and dipped her bread daintily. "I understand. It's dangerous work you're doing. I've been keeping my eyes out like I told you, but I haven't found anyone with fins or claws or obvious gifts, and that's about all I'm good at spotting."

At this, Charles paused in his tagine assault and looked between Julie and Erik. "I simply must know how you two met. And why you're so...buddy buddy. Erik's not very friendly, I feel bound to tell you this. I was his first friend, I think. Me and my sister, and I should probably warn Zach that he has the dubious habit of sleeping with his frie-"

"Would anyone like more tea?" Zach chimed sagely, and busied himself with the br3d. Erik grinned widely.

"I think Charles is jealous."

Julie shook her head. "Oh, Oh my gosh nonono Charles please, you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"You hush, Queen of the Fairies, I'm not worried I'm conquering a food volcano. Feel my might, turnip, I come for thee!"

"...All the same, Zach is the only one for me, really. I met Erik by chance on a business trip to the Pentagon last year. One of the Peace Corps goals is to promote understanding of foreign cultures back home, and I'd written a few articles for the newsletter that they wanted me to do a presentation on."

"She's a genius," declared Zach, and Julie stuck her tongue out.

"I am not, but anyway, there was a bomb drill and they were short staffed so I got turned around and found myself above Erik's glass prison. Sorry, I should've said this before, but one of my ancillary powers is that I'm an empath and a really good judge of character. I don't know I guess I can just...feel people, more than most people can..."  
Charles hmmed and licked his fingers with a strange grace. "You probably have some very faint psychic abilities. I've seen it before."

"Well whatever it is, after an hour with Erik here I became convinced of his innocence and the government's conspiracy against President Kennedy. To be honest I'd had my suspicions but it's scary to believe that kind of thing of your government. But even in the Peace Corps, one of Kennedy's greatest legacies, the CIA is trying to plant espionage cells. We get all kinds of incentives if we send reports about who's who in our villages, maps to little-known access roads, that kind of thing. Well. I won't help the American homosapian-normative government, but the great thing about living here is there's no real limit to the good work I can do. Human or mutant, a sick child is a sick child. And every once in a while," she dealt Erik a sidelong glance. "One of my big scary terrorist pen pals will show up at my door with a bullet wound he tried to sew up with dental floss, and I have a real challenge."

Charles frowned. "Julie, he IS a terrorist. Do you not get the normal news channels in Africa?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "I think he's evening out. Quick Julie do the tango or something."

Julie bit her lip again. "God's truth, he could have been Brezhnev himself, and I would have been bound to help him."

There was a pause. Then, "Well. I'm glad you did. The man's top notch at destroying things, but putting them back together is a different story."

"I'm trying, Charles. Remember why we're here."

Zach shrugged. "To hang out with us, obviously!"

"Alas, man of mine," Julie interrupted, "Didn't I mention it? Erik needs new digs for Magneto. I told him about the cave down by the hot springs. You know, that abandoned goat track?"

"Oh right! He's going to have to seal it off somehow though. Local toughs like to smoke hash down there."

Julie grinned and poked Erik in the chest. "I have a feeling he'll figure something out. But I have some conditions, Erik, and you better follow them, otherwise I'll think nothing of hiking down there and turning all your hardened side kicks into bubble blowing, MyLittlePony collecting, Pong-addicted woobies."

Erik inclined his head. "Yes, you mentioned them on the phone. I assure you we're on the same page. This outpost will be used mostly for storage, intelligence gathering, and as a safe house for any potential mutants that we might identify as in need of help. No violent standoffs unless we're attacked. In fact while I'm gone, you'll be it's deputy. How does that suit you?"

Charles tried and failed to stifle a burp. "I'm sure it suits her just fine. Can we go swimming? I kind of want to go swimming. And are those the Pleiades up there, caddy corner to Orion? That's absolutely marvelous, how bright they are here. I very much want to play with them..."

The telepath arched his back to get a better look at the brightening dusk stars, which lead him right into Erik's lap. Something tender ghosted across the metal bender's face as he looked down at the enraptured face of his friend, tracing the constellations with his delicate fingers and murmuring their names to himself. He looked ten years younger like this. He looked like he did the day they met, soaked and babbling excitedly on the deck of the National Guard boat.

"Actually, swimming might just be on the agenda," Erik said, and then got to his feet. "Julie, I think we're going to check out the site tonight, while foot traffic's thin. Also I'd like to be alone with him when he comes down from this; heh. He might never forgive me."

"What are you toffing on about? I am the best forgiver ever. I am the king of forgiving. ERIK that was a shooting star. Ah, but what do I wish for?! I'll think on it while I change my shoes. I really just detest this yellow."

There was a general milling about as the table was cleared and the two travelers rummaged through their suit cases. Eventually, Julie emerged from a side room with a large bucket and a scoop, handing the items to Erik.

"I have towels too if you need them."

"Thanks we're set."

"You know..." and there went the teeth over the bottom lip again. "I wrote this to you once, but I think it'd do you good to hear it again. There's no secret formula to happiness. Happiness is easy, if you let it come to you. I wish you'd stay in the country for a while because you'd realize the charm of a slower-moving life. Erik...what's to stop you from renting a villa with that man there and just living your life? I'm a doctor, yes, and you're an...I don't know, an activist, but the world doesn't demand sainthood from either of us. What if instead of trying to save us all, you chose to cherish him and let that be your legacy?"

Erik leveled his eyes with hers, and within two heartbeats, he was bereft of the glow that had infiltrated his system since he'd entered the house.

Julie's power was only as potent as his inclination.

"Thanks for the sermon." He replied. "But where does that leave brothers like your precious Kennedy when the CIA comes knocking on our doors?"

"Oh Erik..."

"Use Magneto once in a while. It rolls off the tongue a little better. We should be back before dawn."


	3. Chapter 3

**UnMapped Road, Immozer Morocco, June 18****th**** 1973, 10:15pm **

Charles began to feel well and truly awful almost as soon as they left the city center. His rational mind knew this was a chemical reaction brought on by the absence of Julie's mutative hold on his pituitary gland, but the last ten years had been a hard education in how knowing something didn't mean you felt any better.

He knew, for instance, that he was a powerful mutant capable of great things. And yet he still fought every day to get out of bed.

He knew Hank's "medicine" was dangerous poison, indeed it was a not-so-distant cousin of morphine, and yet he shot up a half dose every time he had to travel, or wanted to walk in his gardens.

He knew he still loved Erik. He knew that Erik knew that, or what else would have given him the brash nerve to push back into his life? He even knew, on some level, that Erik still loved him, although he loved Magneto and Magneto's vision far more.

Not a damn one of those things was a welcomed fact. All Charles wanted, as he fought to ignore his aching back and followed Erik's flash lit path up the mountain road, was to be left the hell alone.

Eventually, Erik intruded again. "You're quiet all of a sudden." 

"Am I?"

"...You know, the first time I came down from Julie's power, I cried like a baby."

"I find that hard to envision. Anyway, I'm fine. She's got no power a little marijuana can't replicate, although I would have liked to have been spared the experience of talking like a needy child. Let's just find this cave."

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Charles."

"Please, tell me more about how I should feel. I swear sometimes I wonder if there's not a beautiful irony in Raven's abdication."

"What do you mean?"

Charles tripped on a rock and swore under his breath before finding the metal bender's eyes in the dim light. "She's clearly traded one tyrant for another."

He had wanted the words to hurt. But when he saw, in the stress lines at the corners of Erik's mouth, and the way his forehead drooped, that he had achieved his goal, it only made him feel worse.

"Do you hear that?" Erik asked after a beat.

"Hear what?"

"The water." He pointed the flashlight down a steep incline to the left of the path, and revealed what appeared to be a small, bubbling lake cradled by a jutting rock face and a border of thistles. "I think we've arrived. Would you like me to...?"

"I'll manage, thanks." Charles replied curtly, and without waiting for further protest, lowered himself and completed a controlled (yet painful) slide down off the path, narrowly avoiding a particularly lush shook bush. He stayed seated as Erik found the ubiquitous ore in the ground and floated easily towards the rock wall.

"I have to check the perimeter for an entrance. If it's not big enough I'll have to make one. This could take a few minutes."

Erik was preoccupied as he said this. Eyes half closed, arms outstretched, he had already begun moving up and down the wall, finding and working metal so that it vibrated and the magnetic waves carried his weight. After a short time, the particles he manipulated began moving so fast that they gathered heat. The most combustible metals glowed a dull orange, increasing visibility and making the lake below them bubble all the faster.

Charles's chest tightened. Magneto was beautiful.

"I'll stay here and keep watch. I believe I was promised a bath anyway."

Erik nodded, jaw slack, brow furrowed, and floated up and across the lake before disappearing behind a bend ind the rock.

Charles turned on his side, rubbed his lower back for a few moments and then very carefully reached out with his power through the fog of fatigue and the serum's effects. It hurt. He tried not to imagine what the inside of his brain might look like in real time, synapses clogged with drugs, his electrical impulses fighting through the neural equivalent of tangled fish net. If he pushed himself though, probably risking a minor stroke in the process, he could cover a mental reconnaissance ring of about half a mile.

It took him twenty minutes and some involuntary groans to reach this outer limit, but eventually he ascertained that there were very few people in the area. The local toughs Zach had warned them about were occupied elsewhere, playing football in the pharmacy parking lot. A young girl was meeting her secret boyfriend in the olive groves to the east of the spring, but she had no plans to venture further. The shepherds who made their homes in huts or bivouacs on the mountain were all at their evening prayers, beseeching Allah to protect their sheep and make their sleep sound.

Gingerly, Charles pulled his mind back, breathed through the dulling headache, and began removing his clothes. The rock was still glowing, giving him just enough light to read the label on the re purposed peanut butter jar in the bucket Julie had lent them. According to the scrawled Arabic, this was "sabon zit," or homemade olive oil soap. Beside the jar was what looked to be a glove made out of sand paper, and this, Charles knew, was the Arab take on a loofa. He busied himself with mixing the soap in some water and filling the bucket to wet himself down, so that he could get accustomed to the heat.. He was relaxed. The pain was almost gone now, and he was weary from jet lag. 

Which was probably why he didn't notice the wild dog stalking him in a nearby bush until it pounced on his bent shoulders with a jarring bark.

Charles keeled over and landed with a hard splash in the shallows of the spring. He tried to scream but the hot, gravelly water muffled the sound. He could feel the dog's claws digging into his shoulder blades, but managed to pivot his body before the animal could make a bid for his neck. Gasping for air, he brought his knees up to his chest to put space between himself and the best, then used his arms to seize it's front paws and twist as hard as he could.

The dog yelped and made for his throat again, but Charles held him off with muscles recently trained for such mundane tasks as getting in his wheelchair. After a tense minute of struggle, he won a kneeling position, putting him face to face with the animal.

_/Go to sleep!/ _He tried, but his mind was exhausted and the dog didn't so much as droop an eyelid. Charles's strength was waning. He needed a weapon if he was going to get out of this stalemate...

"CHARLES!"

Dimly Charles recognized Erik's voice behind him. Before he could yell back, a volley of rocks, boulders, bits of scrap metal, and an abandoned bike chain came hurling towards them. The telepath could tell Erik was aiming for the dog, but his visibility must have been compromised, because he had to duck in order to narrowly avoid a piece of twisted iron.

The maneuver lost him his stalemate, and the dog grazed his left forearm with sharp front teeth, wrenching a cry from him.

It was when he swung his other arm forward to punch that he realized the bike chain had gotten caught on his wrist. Without thinking, he loosened it with a shake and swung it wildly at the dog. His aim was lucky and the effect was whip-like. The chain curled around it's neck and Charles sacrificed another bite to the arm in order to get hold of the thing with both hands.

"GET THE HELL OFF OF ME..." He yelled, and squeezed through the physical pain as he had the mental pain. He pushed through sweat and fear, through panic and anger until he felt no more resistance, and heard nothing except the sound of his own ragged breaths.

"Charles...that's enough."

The telepath came back to himself, and immediately regretted it. The dog was beyond dead. Ferocious only moments ago, in stillness it was merely a pathetic, fuzzy mutt that he had mangled. It's head was half off and it's eyes bugged out of their sockets grotesquely, nearly meeting the lolling tongue. There was blood everywhere and Charles couldn't tell where his ended and the unfortunate animal's began. Erik stood near, momentarily frozen, his gaze darting between the dead dog and Charles's wounds, and it was then that Charles remembered he was naked.

"Bloody hell," He whispered, and let go of the chain before slumping backward. "I didn't mean to do that."

And then he burst into tears.

Erik crouched down and pawed at him like the late dog, ascertaining his wounds, tucking his errant hair behind his ear, trying and failing to wipe away the tears that had broken the dams of his cheekbones and just kept falling.

"Charles, please. We have to wash that one on your arm out. Please stop crying."

Charles hid his face in his hands and cringed away. His left wrist burned, so he dipped it into the half-full bucket. It burned more, and he swore.

"Oh what's the use. Everything's such utter _shite. _It was a mistake coming here with you. Just leave me be."

"I can't do that." Erik said quietly, and without asking hooked his arms under Charles's knees and back, lifting him with ease and tilting the smaller man's face up so that they were looking at eachother.

"And why not, hmm?" Charles spat. "You had no trouble in Cuba, and it was easy as anything last winter-"

"Because I _can't. _You're-"

The telepath winced as the full force of Erik's thoughts hit him in the frontal lobe, like a speaker that had been turned up far too high.

_Mine-magnificant-telepath-mutant-beautiful-Charles-mine-brother-savior-partner-mine-match-mine._

The ore in the rocks on the side of the mountain glowed magma bright, and there was perfect silence when Charles kissed him. He bit into Magneto's thin mouth roughly and stained the other's cheeks with his tears and blood as the metal bender walked fully clothed into the hot springs, carrying his precious cargo. Once he was chest deep, he let the telepath go and began tearing at his own clothes with the speed of someone who desperately wants to stay a little longer inside their dreams. Charles was a deft hand at assisting, and before long they both stood naked and hard before each other in the dark, heavy waters.

"Charles..." Erik gasped into his ear as the telepath reached down, and pushed the index finger of his right hand into the cleft of the other man's ass.

"No talking."

"Wait. You're losing blood."

With control Charles couldn't fathom on a good day, Erik groped behind him for the floating shirt he'd discarded and tore it unceramoniously in two. Gingerly he took Charles's damaged left forearm into his hand, then called the jar of soap and Moroccan sponge over to them via a staple in the sponge's fabric. In a movement so tender it almost made Charles think past lust and madness, the metalkinetic bent down and kissed the inch long gash before opening the soap and beginning his quick, thorough scrubbing of it with the sponge.

"Ow..." Charles whimpered.

"Shhh. Almost finished."

When the wound was clean and raw around the edges from the sponge, Erik tied it off with one half of his shirt, and reinforced it with the rest of the fabric. He was about to send the bathing items back to shore, but Charles reached for the soap jar.

"I'm going to need that," he whispered roughly in Erik's ear, already plastered to him again, hand rubbing his hole like an obscene fish under the water, movement and dominance and agility so much easier in the weightless spring.

"Is this what you want?" Erik asked, half surprised and half...was that shyness? Charles didn't know. Charles didn't care. With his bandaged arm he pushed the metalkinetic into deeper waters until they bobbed against the rock face and his toes found purchase in the sand.

"Yes, this is what I want." Answered Charles. "Now spread your legs."

They'd never done it like this before, not even in the 60's. Erik was a traditionalist in some things, and Charles was generally more than happy to oblige.

Their thoughts were in tandem as Erik wordlessly braced himself against the mountain, and spread his thighs until they were wide apart.

_Now is not like before._

__Charles made careful work of the preparation, slicking the fingers of his good hand well and working them into Erik so that the other man clenched and stretched, then stretched more as he relaxed. He knew from experience how good it could feel when done right, and how terrible a rushed job ached the next morning. He fucked Erik with his hand slow, working himself up into a frenzy at the thought of being the only one in the world who knew how soft and velvet smooth Magneto's asshole was, and how his stifled grunts shook his whole body beneath him.

"...ease..."

"What?" Asked Charles, and ran his teeth along Erik's upper spine.

"I said please. I'm..."

"Are you ready for me, Darling?" Charles asked, words filthy syrup on his tongue, and without waiting for the answer shoved his cock hilt deep into the other man until he was flush against the rocks.

"Fuck. Charles..." Erik clamped his mouth shut when his voice cracked, and pushed himself back against the other man's punishing rhythm.

"You're mine...too...you know..." Charles murmured madly as he penetrated him, again and again, hitting him deep and sure with the warm water and the oil and the rocks to help him, feeling younger, better than he had in ten years.

They came together within minutes, Magneto with a guttural moan in the water and Charles inside him. The telepath thought absurdly, as he shuddered again and again with his orgasm, that he'd just set a higher hormonal bar for physical happiness at least, and that he hoped Julie never bloody found out.

When Erik finally disengaged himself and turned around, bravely meeting the telepath's appraisal with a valiant attempt at stoicism, Charles kissed him long and slow and squeezed his rear together under the water, wanting the other man to feel the absence of him and the recent possession.

"Did you find your cave?"

"I did. It's small. But I'll work on it."

"Yes." Intoned Charles before breaking away from the metalkinetic and treading water to shore.

"We have a lot of work to do."


End file.
